The Cottage

The cottage stood all alone,
Collecting dust and leaves.
Weathered by the elements,
Forgotten and left behind.
The air here used to be warm,
Bursting with the scent of vanilla,
Sweet like cinnamon sugar,
Sparkling with magic.
Now all that fills its rooms,
Is the sting of heartbreak,
Of a love long lost.
It’s despair whispers
through the empty rooms,
Cutting through the air,
Like the sharp edge of a knife,
Landing on the hearts of its victims.
The doors close,
Trapping me inside.
Forever lost.

– C.A. Sullivan

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